


this must be the place

by iwantstylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depression, Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Musician Harry, Past Abuse, Pining, Sad Harry, Sad Louis, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Writer Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantstylinson/pseuds/iwantstylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Harry shifts back into his position next to Louis on the flannel and closes his eyes with a sigh. Louis smiles. Sometimes Harry’s silence worries him – he can seem far away at times, drifting out into the ocean, out where Louis can’t reach him. But in this moment, his silence feels whole; it fills the air in a way words never could, blooming gracefully like a rose. </i><br/><br/>Louis is a writer on the downfall who moves out of the city to find new inspiration. Harry is the boy who never speaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this must be the place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glorixy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorixy/gifts).



> This prompt was given to me for the HL Spring Fic Exchange 2015, which I, unfortunately, had to drop out of. In the months since then, I haven't been able to get this story out of my head, so here I am finally writing it.
> 
> This is the first chaptered fic I've ever written! I will try to update as regularly as I can (trust me, I want this fic to be fully written and over with more than anything else). 
> 
> Thank you to [Sam](http://harrystylesadidasaddict.tumblr.com) for being the best beta I could ask for! I wouldn't have the motivation and confidence to get this thing written without you.  
>    
> Title from "This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)" by the Talking Heads  
> \------------------------------------------
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of past emotional abuse, past drug use, implied alcoholism, implied past suicide attempt, and sex
> 
> Harry/Original Character and Louis/Original Character are both in the past and are only talked about. Zayn/Perrie is only talked about. The only relationships that actually occur in this fic are Harry/Louis and Liam/Zayn (and the latter isn't described much).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to note - the giant section of this chapter in italics is a flashback.
> 
>   
>   
> "the poison leaves bit by bit, not all at once.  
> be patient. you are healing."  
> — yasmin mogahed

Louis raises his glass to his lips, lingering for a moment, letting the lively scent of white wine fill his senses before taking a gulp. He sets the glass back down with a sigh once it’s been emptied of its contents and reaches for the bottle, surprised to see there’s less than half left. It hasn’t been that long since he first sat down to write, has it? The blank page nestled in his typewriter stares him dead in the face, taunting him. Never in his life has the colour white looked so menacing, so disgusting. He glares at it, his heart feeling heavy in his chest, and takes a spiteful swig straight from the lip of the bottle.

It isn’t that he has nothing to write about anymore. He comes up with ideas all the time, actually. Sometimes he’ll hear a snippet of a conversation on the tube, or he’ll meet someone particularly interesting at one of those fancy cocktail parties Zayn takes him to, and he can envision an entire plot laid before him. It’s only times like this, when he sits with his fingers hovering over the keys, staring out his window at the tree across the street blowing in the late February wind, that his mind goes blank.

His phone pings from where it’s laying facedown on his desk, and when he goes to check it, he’s devastated to see it’s already 8:30. How is it possible that he’s been sitting there for almost two hours? 

Exasperated, he pushes his glasses to the top of his head and rubs at his eyes. Starting a book has never been this hard on him in the past. The problem is that it’s too quiet in his flat – when he was writing his first book, his sisters were always yelling, always arguing about who had to help bathe the twins or whose turn it was to do the washing up after dinner. He used to think having enough money for his own place would be a blessing, but in the confined space between the four walls of his bedroom the silence grows so thick he feels like he’s going to choke on it.

He swipes at his phone screen and opens a text from Zayn:

**fancy a drink tonight ?**

\--  
Two hours later, Louis is sitting across from Zayn at a small wooden table, twirling and flipping his phone absentmindedly in his hand. Zayn is going on about the latest drama with Perrie, or at least Louis thinks he is – he can’t be too sure, since he stopped listening minutes ago. 

He feels on edge, dangerous; like the entire floor could cave in and he wouldn’t even care. His throat is still stinging slightly from the shot of whiskey he took minutes ago and already he craves another, wants to feel himself slip away gulp by gulp until he wakes up in his bed with nothing but a headache. 

He suddenly becomes aware of his leg bouncing frantically under the table. The winters always make him jittery, like no matter how warm it is indoors, the cold air from outside stays trapped in his bones. He flips his phone over in his hand for the hundredth time and considers throwing it across the room just to see the it splatter against the wall. _If my phone just happened to be smashed in a million pieces, would he even notice?_ He wonders. _If I never went out and bought another phone ever again, would he even mind?_

“Louis,” Zayn says wearily, his Bradford accent heavy, weighing down the syllables in the air. “Are you listening to me?”

Louis shifts in his seat, straightening his spine as he lies coolly, “Of course, mate. But to be honest, I really don’t think you and Perrie are any good for each other.”

Zayn blinks slowly, his stare blank. “Erm, yeah, that’s what I just said. That’s also what I told her earlier today when I called things off for the last time. I’m sick of feeling like I’m getting nowhere with her.” He takes a sip of his beer before sighing and saying, “Lou, c’mon, are you pissed already? It’s not even eleven yet, mate. How much did you drink before you came out?”

“Oh, what are you on about? I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“I’ve known you for four years now. I’ve seen you clean and sober and I’ve seen you absolutely sloshed. I’m pretty sure I’m able to tell what state you’re in by now.”

Louis snorts at that. Sure, Zayn’s known him for a few years, but Louis has known himself for his entire life. He knows when he’s out of control, and he’s willing to admit he has had some rough nights lately, but right now is definitely not one of those times.

Before he can open his mouth, Zayn speaks again, “I worry about you, you know. It’s not easy for me to see you like this. There’s always a thought in the back of my head that, like, you could go off to some club somewhere, get mixed up with some people, and end up getting hurt. I want to be there for you, Louis, but you have to stop being so fucking reckless.”

Louis’ eyes drop down to his hands on the table, and he sighs because deep down he knows Zayn’s right. He knows he should be more careful, that he shouldn’t just get blackout drunk whenever he feels like it, but he just can’t help it anymore. Every morning his bones ache with restlessness, and throughout the day each heave of breath feels more strained than the last. The burn in his throat and the warmth in his stomach when the alcohol settles in is the only thing that makes him feel alive. 

“You’re right, I know. I’m just bored is all. Just trying to have a bit of fun,” he shrugs, fingers tracing along the scrapes in the table. He’s frustrated and tired and he just wants everything to slow down for just a minute, wants everything to stop being so hard for a little while. 

Zayn sighs, “But do you really think drinking so much all the time is healthy for you right now, with how you’re feeling? I know it’s been hard since Trevor–”

“I really don’t want to talk about that right now,” Louis snaps. He can’t look Zayn in the eyes; he keeps his own on the chewed up nail beds on the ends of his fingers. “I know it’s bad and I know I’m in a bad place, but I just have to work through it, don’t I? I just have to keep going, like always.”

“Louis, it doesn’t work like that. You’re obviously getting burned out,” Zayn shifts in his seat so that Louis looks up at him, and the concern in his dark eyes startles Louis. 

He knows Zayn is right, he’s always right, god damn it, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he lowers his eyes again, grabs the empty shot glasses, and moves quickly to take a seat at the bar. 

To his surprise, his feet move effortlessly across the floor, almost like he’s gliding through the room. His head feels higher than the ceiling, and there’s a moment when he’s sure he’s going to fall. _Woah,_ Louis thinks, gripping the counter to help find his balance as he sits. He was drunker than he thought. _Maybe I don’t need any more..._

Before he can turn around to glide back to the table and admit defeat, the bartender walks up and asks, “Another round, then?”

Louis nods, lowering his eyes. A shot or two more wouldn’t kill him; it’d only put him in the space between. It wouldn’t be Louis at the pub, wouldn’t be him stumbling his way home and curling into the sheets – it’d be the Louis he was when he was blackout drunk, the one who threw everything into the air and watched it come crashing down, and once morning came, Louis could step back into his own shoes and try desperately to put the pieces together once again.

As the bartender starts lining up two new shot glasses, Louis feels like his heart is going to pound through his chest. He’s shaking, he realizes suddenly, and when he glances down at his hands balled up in fists, he remembers the way the silver engagement band looked around his finger, the way they were both trembling as Trevor slipped it on excitedly, and he thinks he might actually explode.

Zayn appears next to him. “What the fuck? So you’re just going to drink more, then? You’re being a fucking prick right now, ignoring me like that. I’m trying so hard, Louis. I’m trying so hard to make you see that it doesn’t have to be like this. I’m really not trying to make you mad, I just don’t know what it’s gonna take for you to see –”

Louis tries to breathe in and ends up crumbling, folding in on himself and hitting his head on the counter with a thud. All control he had over his emotions is lost, and he sobs loudly, knowing if he were any less drunk he’d be ridiculously embarrassed. He feels it all so suddenly: the slow, easy, burning feeling of love, and the excruciating feeling of having it ripped from him in an instant. He hears the words over and over: the way he had the nerve to apologize, as if there was nothing he could do about it. As if telling Louis he didn’t love him anymore was just an obligation, just something he had to say so he could be on his way. 

“Louis, Louis,” Zayn says, arms around his shoulders, calming him down. “Let’s go out for a smoke, yeah?”

Louis feels lightheaded and weak, decides not to fight anymore. He stands up and follows Zayn out the back door. 

Outside, the winter air stings, and on any other night Louis would probably shiver and hurry the process up so he could rush back inside, but he takes his time fumbling with his pack of cigarettes and sorting through his pockets for a lighter. He lets the smoke fill his lungs and clear his head a bit, and only a few moments pass before he feels in control of his body again.

“What the fuck was that?” Zayn asks as they both take their second drag. He doesn’t sound angry or confused, just genuinely worried, and that makes Louis’ heart break.

He sighs, “Okay, you’re right Z, you’re right. I’m stressed, I’m miserable, and I’m burning out quick. It’s been seven months and I’m not over Trevor yet. I feel like no matter what I do, he’s always there in the back of my mind, and there’s nowhere I can go to escape it. I feel trapped,” he inhales sharply, the tears still rolling down his cheeks. “I miss my family. I hate this fucking city. My agent has emailed me three times in the past week asking me to give him something for the editors, but I can’t because I don’t have anything! It’s been months and I haven’t written a single thing, Zayn. I don’t know what to do.” 

Louis’ chest heaves trying to catch his breath, but when Zayn pulls him tightly into a hug, he feels a wave of calm come over him. He pulls away after a few moments and leans against the brick of the building, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“You need a break,” Zayn says, sounding quiet but certain, “A holiday. A time when you don’t have to worry about any deadlines or any of the dickheads of London.” Zayn flicks his cigarette with his finger and watches the ashes fall to the ground. “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. He hurt you and it’s not okay, but it’s okay that you’re not okay, you know?”

Louis laughs slightly and gives a small smile to Zayn. God, he was so lucky to have such an amazing friend. Even though they’ve only known each other for four years, Zayn has always felt like a lifelong friend to Louis. They met when Louis was twenty years old, a year after publishing his first book, The Heat of the Moment, and getting swept up into the world of book tours and conventions and interviews. They met at a party thrown by a friend of Louis’ publisher. Zayn was working on his first graphic novel at the time, and the two talked all night about comic books and superheroes. A year later, they moved in together in a small flat in London and were practically inseparable. But then Louis met Trevor and, well, everything changed.

“I know you, Louis. I know who you are and what you’re like,” Zayn turns to face him and looks at him earnestly. “This isn’t you, and I know it. You need to get back to being you. You need to like, escape all of this for a while. You need to go somewhere that will distract you from drinking all the time, somewhere nobody will push you to write.”

“I can’t just drop everything, Zayn. I have responsibilities.”

“What, to write? You can do that while you’re away. It’s not like you’re writing anything here, anyways. Maybe a change of scenery is what you need, you know? Some time alone to yourself, out in the country somewhere.”

It did sound lovely; being out in a giant field as winter melted away and spring blossomed in front of him, feeling the sun on his skin, smelling the fresh grass under his feet. 

“You could go visit your family. I know your mum would love to have you around. You could like, go for however long you wanted, and just see how it is, you know? It’s at least something you could try.”

Louis drops the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushes it lightly with his foot. It really would be nice to see his family; just thinking about spending time with them in the near future sends a rush of calm over him, steadying his still rapid-beating pulse. He could spend some time with his mum, help her look after his sisters for a bit, and maybe he’d look into moving somewhere near them. 

“Maybe,” he says decidedly, lips pressing together thin as he shivers and shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, mate.”

\--

_Zayn was right; a month back at home was exactly what Louis needed to take some weight off his shoulders. He spent his mornings helping with breakfast and getting swept into the chaos of his sisters getting ready for school. In the afternoons he’d go on walks to nowhere in particular, observing the town flow continuously around him._

_He walked to the stadium where he used to work when he was a teenager, when the world seemed so big and open and terrifying. The stadium looked smaller, somehow, and it made Louis uncomfortable to look at it for too long._

_Jay had been so happy to have him back at home, constantly telling him over and over how much she had missed him. He smiled back warmly, reminding her it was just for a bit and that he’d be out of her hair in no time. She always shushed him, assured him he was always welcome, and added how she loved being able to take a load off for a bit._

_He saw it in Jay’s eyes that she was worried about him, though. He could only imagine what it looked like – suddenly calling off a year-long engagement, and seven months later arriving back home unannounced, with bags packed and a tired smile._

_One night, after all the younger ones were put to bed and asleep, his mum opened a bottle of red wine and poured a couple of glasses for the two of them. “Boobear,” she offered gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”_

_Louis sighed, smiling slightly. “S’pose I should, shouldn’t I?” He took a sip of wine, his first drop of alcohol in days. He spoke slowly, making sure of each word before they came out of his mouth, “I just really thought he’d be the one. I thought Trevor was someone I could spend my life with… and… and trust.”_

_Jay clucked at that, and Louis immediately realized she knew exactly how he was feeling. He forgets sometimes the strain that two divorces had on her, and when you looked at her presently, she seemed so strong. But he remembered being woken up in the middle of the night as a teenager by his step-dad’s booming voice as he argued with Johanna, and when he snuck out of bed to sit on top of the stairs and listen, he could hear her quiet sobs._

_She reached and set her hand softly on top of Louis’ knee as he continued. “I try so hard to keep moving, keep working and putting it all behind me. But in the months I’ve been living alone, I think I’ve lost it. Lost everything, really; the motivation to write, the ability to go out and enjoy myself…” He trailed off, his voice getting caught in his throat as he felt tears well up in his eyes._

_Jay rubbed her thumb along his knee, pressing slightly, which was probably more comforting to Louis than she even realized._

_He spoke sharply now, “I just hate him for fucking me up so bad. I hate this person I am now,” he took a deep, shaky breath, and a tear fell quietly down his cheek as he continued, “I just want to feel better. I want to get over it.”_

_His mother reached for him and he leaned to rest his head on her shoulder. “I know baby, I know,” she whispered, wiping the tear from his face, “You need to take some time for yourself. You need to find yourself again. That’s the only way it’ll ever get better.”_

_Louis nodded, her words only solidifying the plan forming in his head. “Zayn told me just about the same thing. He said I should take some time out of the city, discover someplace new.”_

_Jay smiled, “That sounds lovely. Do you have anywhere in mind?”_

_Louis lifted his head off her shoulder and took another sip of wine. “I’ve been doing a little research, actually. I found a house to rent in a town called Knutsford, which is only about two hours away from here, so I wouldn’t be too far from all of you.”_

_She seemed pleased by that. “Oh, sweetie, that would be great!” She hugged him tightly, and he could smell that perfume she always wore, something floral and clean. “And who knows where this move could head. Maybe you’ll meet some new friends.”_

_She said it a bit suggestively, even adding a wink. Louis chuckled and rolled his eyes, but the next morning, he spoke to an estate agent about renting the house he told Jay about. The more he looked into it, the more excited he got, and the easier it was to feel like he was on his way to something good._

\--

Louis plops down on his couch and sighs, examining his new space. It’s sparsely decorated; even though he brought all of his furnishings from his flat in London, the house has so much more space. His old piano his mom insisted on him taking from back home looks lonely and out of place, being the only piece in the room with any sort of character or history. He wanders to the kitchen and looks out the back window to his garden, which is actually a pretty fair size, but barren from the winter. He imagines how it’ll look in the summer – green and leafy and full of life – and smiles. Maybe in the summer he’ll drink tea out there in the afternoon. Maybe he’ll even take the time to plant some flowers. He could do anything with his time once it’s warm out; take as much of it as he needs, let himself settle for once.

But for now, he sits on his small, grey couch and shivers, the chilly air of the last days of winter creeping through his window. Boredom settling in, he reaches for his phone and checks his messages. There’s one from Zayn and one from his mum, both asking if he’s done getting his things settled. After typing a quick message to them, he instinctively checks his email. There are two from his agent: the first asking him if he has something, anything so far, the second is a little more, well, urgent. Louis takes a while to respond, making sure to sound as apologetic but assertive as he can. He knows now that his health is more important than getting work done. 

When he’s finished, he groans, wishing he had some form of entertainment to help him relax a bit. He checks the time – 8:23, the perfect time to do some exploring and find a pub.

When he steps outside, it’s colder out than Louis thought it’d be. He clutches at the inside of the pocket of his hoodie and quickens his pace as he walks toward the street corner. The street is quiet, and he realizes that everyone is probably avoiding the cold evening in the warm safety of home, surrounded by family. He remembers sitting in front of a burning fire and tucking his head into the crook of Trevor’s neck, wrapping his arms around his warm torso and squeezing tight. Maybe this was the wrong decision. Maybe Zayn doesn’t know shit and he’ll never get over this. 

He walks past another row of houses until he approaches a pub at the end of the street –The Rose & Dagger – and ducks inside. 

The air is warm and homely inside the small pub, and as Louis shrugs off his coat and hangs it on a peg, he spies a stone fireplace in the back corner. The place is nearly empty; only a few people are scattered among tables, and a couple of men sit at the bar. He approaches an empty seat at the counter and picks up the beer list to skim it over. 

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks in a thick Irish accent, startling Louis. He looks up and is surprised to see how young he looks, probably no older than 23, and his blonde hair sticks straight up in an unruly quiff. He leans up against the bar, his smile easy-going and friendly. 

“I’ll try the Tatton Gold, I s’pose,” Louis says, hoping his smile matches the warmth in the bartender’s.

“Great choice,” he says, reaching into a cooler under the bar before grabbing a bottle, popping it open, and setting it on the counter. “I haven’t seen you ‘round here before, you new or something?”

Louis takes a small sip, the bitterness settling in his mouth. “Is this really that small of a town, then?” he laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I actually just finished moving in.”

The bartender’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “No shit? Well then, welcome to Knutsford! I’m Niall,” he says, holding out his hand for a shake, “Why don’t you scoot on over here, I’ll introduce you to a couple of my mates.”

He gestures to the other end of the bar where two men are sitting, talking with each other. Louis smiles and thinks, why not, this is what he came here for, isn’t it? To meet new people, make new acquaintances? So grabs his bottle and moves over to an empty barstool next to them.

“Lads,” Niall says, his voice booming, “This is Louis. He just moved here.”

The young man next to Louis smiles and offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Liam,” Louis shakes firmly, meeting his warm, brown eyes, “It’s nice to meet you.” He’s wearing a jumper, but Louis can tell he’s quite muscular underneath. He seems confident and strong, but also a bit playful, in a way that’s just subtle enough for Louis to catch onto.

Louis can’t help smiling wide. “It’s nice to meet you too.” He leans over the bar slightly to introduce himself to Niall’s other friend and falters slightly. He’s cute, and not just cute in the way the guys in London always were; his hair tumbles down to his shoulders in long, brown curls, and his eyes glimmer an impossible shade of green in the dim light of the pub. There’s something secretive about his demeanor, and Louis can’t help but feel intrigued. “Hi, Louis,” he chokes out, hoping it didn’t come out too pathetic sounding, “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Harry,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to his nearly empty bottle of beer, teeth scraping his bottom lip.

Before Louis can offer his hand to shake or say something else, Liam interrupts, “So you’re new, huh? Where did you move from?”

Louis glances back to Liam, heat starting to rise to his cheeks. “Well, I’m from Doncaster, but I just moved here from London. Thought I could use a break from the big city, you know?”

Niall nods understandingly, “I know what you mean. I moved here from Dublin myself, just a few years ago.”

“Oh really?” Louis asks, “What made you decide to move here?”

“Well, Liam’s an old family friend of mine, and when he told me he needed some help with this pub, I thought, why wouldn’t I spend my time selling and drinking pints with my best friend?” Niall cackles at that, like he’s told some hilarious joke.

Louis turns to his left again, eyes flicking across to Harry for a fraction of a second, noticing that he still has his eyes trained on his fingers which are absentmindedly twisting the silver rings around them. He refocuses on Liam. “This is your pub, then?”

“That’s right,” Liam smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks like a puppy when he smiles like that – a cute, lively little puppy. “The Rose & Dagger. I had been studying in Manchester, but I decided to quit all that and run a pub instead. It was quite on a whim, actually, but I couldn’t be happier here.”

“Um,” Harry mumbles, fingers tapping quietly on the bar, “I think I’m gonna head out now. I should um, get going. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course mate,” Liam says, standing up to hug Harry goodbye. “I’ll meet you after I’m finished here.”

“Great,” Harry says, smiling thinly for just a second. “Bye, Niall.”

“Goodnight Harry. Say hello to your mum for me,” Niall says, smirking.

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry says, dismissing him. He glances at Louis for a moment, eyes still glimmering, and says, “Nice meeting you.” 

“You, too,” Louis says timidly, lifting his hand up in a small wave goodbye. 

“So, Louis,” Niall starts once Harry’s out the door, pouring himself a pint of beer, “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a writer,” Louis replies, swallowing down a giant gulp.

“What kind of writer? A journalist, a novelist, a poet?” Liam asks.

Niall laughs at that. “You don’t seem like a poet to me, Louis.”

Louis laughs a bit, too, “Well, that’s cause I’m not. I’m a novelist – mysteries, thrillers, a little bit of realistic fiction – those sorts of things. I don’t think I’m any good really, but people seem to like my books, so I keep writing them.”

“That’s really interesting, actually,” Liam says, eyes full of amazement.

Niall smacks his lips and smiles coolly, “So what are you working on now?”

Louis sighs lightly, “That’s actually the reason I moved out here. I haven’t been able to come up with anything. Guess that’s what happens when you’re constantly being nagged at to write something; you run out of ideas!” 

Niall laughs at that. “So let me guess, you thought you’d move out to a town in the country to find some inspiration?”

“As cliché as it sounds, it’s true,” he admits, raising his hands in surrender, “Nothing like small town antics to inspire a new story.”

“Mate,” Niall starts, cupping a hand on Louis’ shoulder, “You do know that if any of your future characters resemble me in the slightest, I’ll be expecting a cut of your royalties.”

Louis smiles brightly and counters, “Fine, then. If I start writing a book about a loud, blonde Irishman called Neil, I’ll make sure you get a cheque.”

The night carries on that way – Louis, Liam, and Niall joking and bantering easily with each other until the early hours of morning, filling their stomachs with bitter brew. He hadn’t expected to find people so funny and likeable so quickly, but here they are, with warm eyes and hearty laughs. Louis can feel himself relaxing already, forgetting Trevor and London and pushy editors – he feels like for the first time, he’s in his own element. And who would’ve thought it would be with a couple of strangers? 

He stays while Liam and Niall clean the bar a bit and lock everything up, and then say their goodbyes and part ways, promising to see each other again soon.

As he heads back down the moonlit neighborhood street, the air feels impossibly still, and the cold silence scares Louis more than he would like to admit. Desperate for some noise, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Zayn. After one short ring, it clicks to his voicemail. _That bastard._

As he swipes the screen to call Zayn again and leave a very strongly worded message, a small “Meow!” erupts through the early morning air. 

Louis turns around and sees an orange cat trailing behind him, paws dirty with mud. “Well, excuse me, sir. I didn’t see you there,” he says softly, crouching and offering his hand for the cat to smell. The cat sniffs for a moment and instantly rubs his chin along Louis’ fingers. So he’s a friendly cat, then.

Louis spends a while petting the cat, his purr growing louder every minute, and realizes he isn’t wearing a collar. “Well, little man,” he says, standing up, “I have to go now. Goodbye.”

He gives a small wave, laughs at himself for being so cordial to a goddamn stray cat, and turns back to head home. As he steps up onto his entryway, he hears the same soft “Meow!” and spins around to see the cat running after him.

“Aw, couldn’t go long without missing me, eh?” Louis asks, leaning down to pet him again. For a moment he considers letting the cat into his house for the night and letting him escape the cold for a bit, but he doesn’t have a collar and looks pretty dirty, so he decides against it. He quickly unlocks his door and hurries inside, avoiding the confused eyes of the cat on his doorstep.

He goes to sleep that night in a dizzy, drunken haze, dreaming of green eyes and shy smiles.

\--

Louis wakes abruptly to the sun beaming through the window and directly onto his face, snapping his eyes shut almost as soon as he opens them. He turns over to face the clock on his bedside table and groans: 10 AM. It’s been a week since he moved in, and it occurs to him as his stomach grumbles that he’s eaten the small amount of groceries he originally bought. He checks his pantry, but the only digestible thing he has is tea.

He showers and changes into some clean clothes, then quickly makes his way out the door. He reaches the end of his street and walks towards the center of town. 

He ruffles his damp hair with his hand, and then sweeps it to the side of his face.  
The sun feels refreshing, almost replenishing, like the harshness of winter is melting inside of him. Every summer he forgets what it feels like to be cold, and every winter he forgets what it feels like to be warm. He smiles to himself, finally remembering the sun-soaked days ahead of him. Turning the corner, he spots a Sainsbury’s and makes a beeline toward it, his stomach groaning loudly. 

He suddenly hears music and chatter, looks across the street to see a farmer’s market bustling with people. For a moment he weighs his options: the store would be cheaper, but then again, it was a lovely day, and he might as well walk around a bit. The ingredients at the market would be fresher, too, and maybe he could take up cooking like his mum is always pestering him to. He exhales and turns on his heel, quickly crossing the street.

The market is lined with rows of booths covered in white tarps, and mothers with prams holding small children walk idly through, stopping at various stalls. Louis’ gaze lands on a booth labeled “Fresh, Artisan Cheeses” and decides to head in that direction. 

“Hello,” the young girl behind the table of cheese greets him cheerfully, “Would you like to try a sample of our smoked Gouda?” 

Louis presses his lips together in a thin smile. “Well, sure. Cheers.”

She hands him the small block of cheese, then turns to the woman approaching next to him. Louis takes a small nibble of the block, the sharp smokiness filling his mouth. While eyeing the selection of cheeses and considering buying a bit of some, he hears a small “Meow!” from his left. Looking down, he’s surprised to see the same orange cat that followed him home the week before nosing along his ankle and purring contentedly. 

“Well, hello there, mate.” Louis says, squatting to pet the cat. “Fancy seeing you here.” The cat squints up at him and meows softly, encouraging him to keep petting. Louis chuckles and starts rubbing at it’s chin. He notices a pair of brown boots appear behind the cat, startling them both. Louis looks up and is surprised to see someone familiar.

Harry crouches down on the other side of the cat and holds out a small piece of salami, the cat sniffing it for a moment before taking it into his mouth.

“Oh,” Louis says, looking over to him, “Is he yours, then?” Harry shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the cat chewing the salami happily. Feeling a bit awkward, Louis stands. “Do you know who he belongs to? He was following me around the other night – I almost let him in, but decided against letting a strange cat into me house.” He can hear his accent getting thicker as his words blend together, always coming back as a reflex when he feels nervous. 

“He’s just a vagabond cat,” Harry says, petting the cat head-to-tail before standing. “He’s very friendly.”

Smiling, Louis agrees. “He is; that’s for sure.” He studies Harry for a moment, remembering the brightness in his eyes back at the bar, noticing how now they look darker, duller. He realizes that Harry might not remember him from their brief encounter and quickly explains. “I believe we’ve met before, last week at the pub? You’re friends with Liam and Niall, yeah? I’m Louis.”

He offers his hand and Harry takes it politely. “Yeah, I’m Harry. I remember you, but it’s nice to meet you, all the same.”

They lock eyes and Louis sees it again – not just the deep colour of his eyes, but something hidden beneath, something that he realizes looks a lot like fear. _What is he afraid of?_

“Well, enjoy your day. I’m sure I’ll run into you again soon.”

Louis clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll see you at the pub, then.”

The ends of Harry’s lips curl up slightly, forming a sweet little smile. “Bye, Louis.”

He turns away and heads to the end of the row, soon disappearing out of sight. Louis smiles to himself, the fresh image of his name on Harry’s lips frozen in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [grayromanticharry](http://grayromanticharry.tumblr.com)  
> Feel free to follow, harass me to post more, or just stop by!
> 
> I'm working on a playlist for this fic that I will eventually post as the story is more fully completed :-)  
> Love yall


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